


Footprints in the Snow

by Fortheloveofjonsnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortheloveofjonsnow/pseuds/Fortheloveofjonsnow
Summary: Grief changes things. Sansa Stark returns to Winterfell after a long absence in the south, to find many things changed, including family friend, Jon Snow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74





	1. Prologue: Two Winter Storms

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are many Jonsa stories out there, and this type of fic has probably been written many times, but I've been reading and enjoying Jonsa fics for so long that I've decided to add a few to the mix.

**Jon**

Jon slid down to the cold hospital floor, his back to the wall, and watched as chaos, or what appeared to be chaos, ensued. Ygritte was on the hospital table. The doctor and nurses had pushed him aside. Ygritte… his wife… a moment ago, she had been screaming in pain…now she was deathly quiet. Something was said about bleeding out, and Ygritte had gone pale. Everything happy and good in the world had seemed to come to a halt.

“What’s happening?” Jon had asked.

“She’s losing blood,” said one nurse.

“Sir, please stand to the side,” said another.

The weather outside had been terrible. They should not have been out driving in this storm, but they had done it anyway. Both having grown up in the North, they had driven in snow for as long as either of them could remember… but of course, no one imagines anything like this… not when they are twenty-six with all the world, full of life, laid out before them.

“We’re losing her,” a nurse had shouted. Jon had tried to rush to her side but was asked to step aside once more.

Jon had found himself backed into the corner, where he now sat on the cold floor as the doctors and nurses tried to bring Ygritte back from wherever it was she was going. Jon had not prayed in years… but he prayed now. A small, helpless cry broke into the hazy fog that surrounded him. Jon felt tears spring to his eyes… _that’s right_ , he seemed to remember. The rest of the night came crashing back into his memory, and he stood, in a daze, and walked over to the little table guarded by a pediatrician… Jon looked down at the tiny baby on the table.

“She’s fine, mate, she’s healthy,” the pediatrician put a hand on his shoulder. Jon wept, as he heard the distinct sound of a heart monitor… flat-lining.

* * *

**Sansa**

Sansa looked up at the back house… Winterfell… home. She had not been back in so long. Sighing deeply, she lifted her bag from the snowy ground. There was a storm brewing, a monstrous one by look of the clouds. She knew Mother and Father would welcome her with open arms… they always would, it was their way. They had not changed. Studying the big house once more, she wondered what had changed inside these cold, stone walls while she was away. Ghostly apparitions of a happy childhood frolicked around the yard, taunting her. Yes… she had been happy once. Once she had even been a child herself.

“Sansa?” A voice interrupted her thoughts. Sansa’s head snapped to the doorway to the sound of a voice so painfully familiar, and sweet, she could have cried. Sansa, however, did not cry anymore. She had not cried in many years. Snow started to fall… a few flakes kissed her cheeks. There had been very little snow in King’s Landing.

“Dad,” Sansa said softly, feeling almost ashamed by the love and acceptance she knew would be in his voice.

“Aren’t you coming inside, love? I’ve been watching ya stand here for half an hour, and it’s bloody cold out here,” Ned Stark’s voice was light, and his voice was filled with a smile. The deep, northern brogue of his voice was so painfully familiar that it could have cauterized the wounds that she had barely patched in her heart.

“Yes, Dad, I’m coming,” she said with an odd sort of detachment, as if she were watching herself in a dream. He reached his arms out to her, and she had to resist the urge to fall into them like a lost little girl, who just needed her father. That’s when she remembered… _Dad was gone._ He was not standing before her welcoming her home, it was only the cold and her imagination. Sansa took another step toward the door. She had been standing out here in the cold for thirty minutes, that part of her imaginings was real at least. Freezing to death, she thought would not be so terrible of a way to go, blanketed in the pillowy northern snow. She could not feel her extremities, _perhaps she was half frozen already?_ Taking another step toward the door, Sansa raised her fist to knock. Did one knock on the door of your childhood home? It had not been her home in so very long, that it felt wrong to just barge in as if she owned the place. Did the old castle still welcome her? When she had been a little girl, she had dreamed of castles and dashing knights, and pretended that Winterfell was an elegant southern castle full of beautiful princess and roguish heroes. Looking up at the somber grey stone once more…no, Winterfell was all northern… stubborn and solid, and made to last… _unlike herself_ , she thought ruefully. Sansa knocked on the door. Only a moment later, the big door swung open. She looked into the Tully blue eyes, so like her own.

“Sansa?”  
Sansa took a fortifying breath, “Mom.”


	2. Changes (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will likely get longer as we get deeper into the story. Thanks for reading!

Sansa woke with a start to the sound of her alarm, she looked at the clock. 7 a.m. and yet she had no where to be… it was an odd feeling. Rolling over, she stared up at the ceiling. Her childhood room looked as if it were frozen in time, just the way she left it when she went away to college. Yawning, Sansa shivered in the cold air. She was unaccustomed to the cold now. Wiggling her toes to ensure none had fallen off from frostbite, Sansa stood and looked in the mirror. She looked affright. Red hair, stringy and poking out in different directions draped down her back and there were dark circles under her eyes as if she had not slept in weeks.

“Sansa?” A soft knock came to her door. _Mom, right, she was home_ …

“I’m up,” Sansa called to her mother.

“Your brother will be here any second.”

“Robb or Bran?”

“Both!” Mom called out. Sansa had not seen any of her siblings in several years, having always found an excuse not to come home. She knew Arya hated her, but it did not matter much, because Sansa was not sure she did not hate Arya in return. Still they were sisters… _could one both love and hate one’s sister?_ The only sibling whom she knew would welcome her back with open arms was Rickon. Sweet Rickon, the youngest Stark, came as something of a surprise in Ned and Catelyn’s later years, when their other four children were teenagers. Sansa dressed quickly and pulled her hair into some semblance of order, before slowly opening the door to the quiet hallway. She looked both ways before stepping out, and crept down the haunted hallway, the pictures on the wall of their once happy family mocked her. Mom and Dad’s wedding portrait hung on the wall right before the staircase landing, and Sansa had to turn away. If life had taught her anything, it was that her mother and father perhaps were the only true examples of love in the world. She sighed and walked down the stairs toward the kitchen… now Dad was gone.

“Good morning, darling, did you sleep well?” Catelyn kissed her cheek, as she stirred something in a large mixing bowl. Sansa was not entirely sure how Mom could be so composed.

“I slept fine, mom, thanks,” She said tersely.

“Sansa!” Rickon came running and flung himself into Sansa’s arms. Nine years old and much too happy and exuberant to hold Sansa’s absence against her, he hugged her tight. “I’m happy you are home.”

“Me too, Rick,” Sansa ruffled his curly auburn hair.

“Sit, sit,” Catelyn urged her.

“When is everyone going to be here?” Sansa asked tentatively. She was sure Robb and Bran and Arya would have very little to say to her, how could they? She had nothing to say for herself.

“Arya is upstairs already, she has been here all week,” Catelyn said, and though Catelyn had not meant any unkindness, Sansa still felt the sting. Arya had been here all week since it happened… and Sansa had not.

“Knock, knock!” announced the loud booming voice of her eldest brother Robb, and he emerged grinning into the kitchen with his wife, Jeyne, by his side. Sansa wanted to disappear into her bowl of toasted oats… though she imagined drowning would be one of the worst ways to go. The frozen layer of her heart melted somewhat, however, when she caught sight of the baby in Jeyne’s arms. Her nephew. Sansa had been too busy six months ago, trying to hold her crumbling career together with her bare hands, to come up and see her new baby nephew. Then somehow six months had passed and still she had not come. Now she was here, and she wished she had come sooner… wished she had gotten to see him before… everything…

“Sans!” Robb exclaimed and to her surprise, he rushed to her side and embraced her. There was no anger, no cold distance… only love. How long had it been since Sansa had known such a thing? She hugged him back awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

“Sansa,” Jeyne smiled at her when Robb released her and hugged her.

“And this is must be little Neddy,” Sansa said trying to sound cordial though she felt anything but happy.

“Yes,” Jeyne said proudly, holding the infant up to Sansa, “Do you want to hold him?”

“Oh, oh, no I couldn’t he’s so small,” Sansa recoiled as if she had been burned. She had not held a baby in years, and something about that made her heart ache strangely. She had once wanted to be a mother, but that was long ago, back when her heart was softer than it was now, and she still believed that she would meet some dashing young man and fall into that illusive and possibly imaginary love that all the songs made such a big deal about. Behind Robb and Jeyne came Bran and Uncle Benjen, Uncle Benjen looking so much like her father, her breath caught in her chest. Why hadn’t she come home sooner? Bran gave her the cold stare she had been expecting but Uncle Benjen hugged her warmly and kissed the top of her head.

“Welcome home, princess,” said Uncle Benjen, and Sansa had to straighten her spine to keep from crying into his shoulder. She did not cry much anymore… in fact, she had not cried since receiving the news… and it made her wonder if her heart had turned as cold as so many in King’s Landing believed it be.

“Thank you, Uncle Benjen,” Sansa said softly.

“So, the prodigal returns,” Arya’s voice interrupted them all. Sansa whipped around to face her sister, but instead of derision, she was met with a smile. Arya actually hugged her. Grief, she supposed, did odd things to people. Beside Arya stood a young man with bright blue eyes and black hair, and Sansa glanced at him warily.

“Sansa this is my fiancé, Gendry,” Arya introduced them. Sansa shook his hand, and was little dumbfounded that Arya, who had sworn up and down all their childhood that she would never marry, was in fact engaged, and presumably in love. Sansa was not sure how to digest this information and was more than a little put off that she had not been told about Arya’s engagement.

“Nice to meet you,” Sansa said cordially, ever mindful of her manners. They were all gathered now for the first time in years, and Sansa knew that it was her fault that it was the first time in years, and she felt a crippling guilt that it was not under better circumstances. She needed her father… but it seemed she needed him too late.

“Hello?” A distantly familiar voice interrupted the silence that had crept over the kitchen. Sansa looked to the door, to see a handsome young man, bent over, holding the hands of an infant who was giggling and attempting to walk. He looked up at everyone, and Sansa’s breath caught in her chest… Jon Snow.

“Well, look who is walking!” Catelyn exclaimed with a smile as she knelt on the ground to greet the baby. The baby had bright red ringlets and slate grey eyes… eyes just like Jon’s.

“Not walking quite yet,” Jon chuckled, “But she’s trying.”

It appeared that even sullen Jon Snow had married and fathered a child. Everyone had changed. Sansa smiled at softly. Jon was Robb’s best friend and had been ever since they were little more than babies themselves. Jon had always been like another brother to her. Catelyn picked up the baby and tickled her tummy making her giggle. Jon carried a diaper bag and the jacket of his suit over one arm, and Sansa waited to see what lucky lady had captured Jon’s heart… but no one followed him.

“We have to be at the godswood in an hour,” Robb said solemnly. Catelyn looked at him and gave him a sad smile.

“Yes, well, they won’t start without us,” Catelyn said tersely, before kissing the carrot-top baby on the cheek and handing her back to Jon. At that moment, Jon seemed to catch sight of Sansa, and he gave her a lopsided smile.

“Hello, Sans, its been awhile,” He greeted.

“Yes, hello, Jon,” Sansa was not sure whether she should hug him or shake his hand.

“I’m sorry its under these circumstances.”

“Aye, me too,” Sansa agreed, not sure how her northern accent had suddenly reappeared from its burial. Her accent had not fit the persona she had cultivated in King’s Landing, and after a couple of years she had lost it but being near her family apparently brought it back. “And who’s this?” Sansa touched the little girl’s hand.

“This is Lya,” Jon said with a proud smile, “She’s my daughter, can you say hi, Lya?”

Lya looked at Sansa and made some type of sound that resembled _hi_ but did not quite make it.

Jon chuckled, “We’re still working on that.”

Sansa smiled at him and he smiled back.


End file.
